Finding Home
by pottermalfoy24
Summary: Harry's never had a home of his own. Will he find one in a place he has never known? Xover with Mercedes Lackey's Valdemar. HPOFC pairing, but not until later. Chapter 3 up!
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" belongs to J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury and Scholastic. "Valdemar" belongs to Mercedes Lackey and DAW Books. All music and poetry marked with a copyright © belongs to Mercedes Lackey, other credited authors, and Firebird Arts & Music. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has changed hands._

_Author's note: I have found exactly three other stories which have attempted this. The first, "Dreams of Old", by Fireflights1977, is found in Book Crossovers. The other two, "No Longer Alone" and "Once More Into The Breach", both by RiverSong DreamShadow, are in Harry Potter. I just don't think that three is enough, and I'm going to throw my two bits in._

_Catch the Snitch!_ ~o~

* * *

**Finding Home**

One

The large leather-bound book had been found by Hermione's mother at a rubbish sale, and in between hunting down all of the remaining Horcruxes and destroying them, six students, Harry Potter, Ron and Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood had occupied Hogwarts and learned its secrets in the Room of Requirement. It was titled "Forces Arcane" and it had no credited author, though it had been translated by Merlin himself into Olde English, which was hard to read because it was really just one step away from ancient Gaelic. Hermione hadn't even tried, making a copy for each of them with a spell she'd learned from Madame Pince that copied any work into the native language of the caster while leaving the original intact.

The book described a method of working magic that was totally different than anything taught at Hogwarts. It was a student's notes as she had been taught by her mentor from the age of ten to the point at which she had reached Adept-class, which was the most powerful anyone could become, thirty years later.

There was never any mention of using a wand; instead the wizard, or mage as the book called them, was required to center themselves around the core of their magic and ground themselves in the earth. These two steps could be accomplished by anyone if they knew how, and once they did, they could use what energy was on the surface of the earth _even if they didn't have the Gift!_ This radical thought, that even Muggles could work some magic if they were ever taught how, was a secret they all vowed to keep. It wasn't as if they were afraid of the Muggles, but if that got out, Muggles wouldn't be safe.

An Apprentice-class mage could be un-Gifted and could use only that energy which was on the surface, energy emitted by living things. It was everywhere, but it was fairly weak because it was diffuse. The strongest of Apprentice-mages were called hedge-wizards or Earth-witches and could even influence the weather with their abilities. Apprentices and Journeymen were of great use in maintaining the balance of the land against what more powerful mages could do, and the book emphasized that there was no such thing as a useless mage. As long as a person learned their limits and explored them thoroughly, they could do a lot within them.

The next level described was Journeyman-class, and as far as they could tell, every wizard in the modern world belonged to this class of mage. A Journeyman had to possess the Mage Gift, and so could access their own internal magic, which was what wizardry used to fuel spells, focusing them through a wand in the absence of the mental training required to ground and center. But a Journeyman could also control the Stable Elements, Fire and Earth, or rather the creatures which lived on those two Elemental Planes, either by coercion or persuasion. A quick conversation after reading that lead the six to agree to use only persuasion. Coercion seemed too much like the Imperius for any of them to be comfortable with it.

There were also other kinds of Gifts, Gifts that used only the mind, but though Harry, Neville and Luna all three showed signs of having some of these other Gifts, they decided not to explore them until after the war was over. At least with true magic, they had some basis for comparison, a way to figure out what the book was telling them by comparing it to what they already knew, and there was no time to learn something totally new.

And then came the real shockers. There were two much more powerful classes of magery, stages that perhaps only Merlin had ever reached in western history.

The Master-class mage gained control over the Mutable Elements, Air and Water, and gained access to the rivers of energy which dwelt deep within the earth, the ley-lines. And what power it was! The first time Harry had ever touched that power, he'd sworn up and down that it was like drinking light, and could give no other explanation. Later, they knew that part of the reason was that the school had been built right next to a node! All the lines feeding into it were very powerful because they were constantly being fed by the residue of student wizards learning their craft and the similar residue of nearly a thousand hormonal teenagers in the same ten acres for more than a thousand years.

The Hogwarts node was actually centered in the Forbidden Forest, and that made a lot of sense. Strange things grew and thrived there that, according to Hermione, were extremely rare in other places, and that could be due to contamination from the node.

No Master-mage could hope to control that kind of power. Nodes were far too strong and unpredictable for anyone less than an Adept-class mage to tamper with them. Adepts could control all four Elemental Planes, just as a Master, but they could also control the Fifth Element, the Plane of Power. There were no other-Planar creatures in that one to bargain with and gain power from. It was the seat of all magic, the place where it actually came from, and if you could touch that, you could touch a node. You could also travel through it, using a spell called a Gate. The energy for a Gate _had_ to come from the mage. Hermione insisted that it should be possible to use external Power, but there was no time to figure out how.

In fact, there was no time for Harry or Neville, who both had the potential, to strive for anything but the bare essentials of Adept-class in the first place. They had wasted all the time they could in learning and now it was time to fight. Throughout the time spent learning the book, they had been forming a plan. It was a brazen and foolhardy plan if taken on the surface, but with the surprises they had been building, it had a very good chance of succeeding.

Nevile had planted a circle of hedges on the Quidditch pitch and then forced them to grow to twelve feet in height and six feet thick. They were meant to remind Voldemort of Cedric Diggory, for it had been these sort of hedges which had made up the maze of the Triwizard Tournament Third Task. The hedges were also there to provide a structure for the other spells that were being cast on the site. They were shielded in layers, with traditional anti-Apperation and anti-summoning wards being the innermost and then alternating shields against physical and magical attacks spreading onion-like away from the hedgerow for nearly ten yards in all directions, including up and down. Luna, who had built the shield system, had also placed an inert anti-Portkey ward which would be activated by a rock thrown at the first physical shield. When Voldemort came, he would not be leaving the circle, nor would anyone else be getting in besides his seconds. Ginny had made the Portkeys, one for their side and one for Voldemort's. She had also woven the illusion that would hide Gryffindor's sword until it was time for Harry to use it.

Just a week ago, Harry had sent a letter to Voldemort which had one of the Portkeys in it. The letter was a formal request for a duel with the time that the Portkey was to activate. Voldemort had immediately sent his acceptance, which had made it a magical contract. He had to come. But he didn't have to play fair, and neither did Harry. There were rules to a formal duel, rules which no one believed the dark wizard would adhere to. Harry planned to follow them up until the moment his enemy tried to cheat, and then he would drop all pretense and fight with everything he had, including the sword of Gryffindor.

Both combatants were allowed no more than two seconds, and Harry knew that Voldemort would have those two. Snape would most likely be one of them, but there was no telling who the other might be. Harry had chosen Ron and Hermione. Both had been with him from the beginning, and both were now strong Master-class mages. They would be able to defend themselves in the circle, and they would make sure that, no matter what happened, the recording spheres would make it to every wizarding publication in the world, every department in the Ministry of Magic, Minister Scrimgeour and Prime Minister Blair. There would be no disguising the truth of the events, no politicians burying it in order to manipulate the public. All of them were tired of the press's and government's lax attitudes toward the truth.

The challenge had been issued and accepted one week ago, it was registered with the Ministry the next day, and the day after that it hit the papers. Harry and the others had come back to Grimauld Place as soon as the acceptance had been received so they'd had one day of rest before the "adults" of the Order found out and had a fit. They'd rousted Harry and the other five mages out of their beds and started yelling at all of them in a pandemonious fashion, everyone shouting at once so that no one could be understood. Finally, Harry had tired of it and had shouted above the crowd, "ENOUGH!" Then he tapped into the nearest ley-line and cast _Silencio_ and _Petrificus Totalus_ at once, both silently and wandlessly, over the entire Order by his small group. He'd given them all a moment to figure out what he'd done, then he'd said, "Now that I have your attention, I hope you'll listen to me. We've found a new way of doing things, a method that far out-strips any of our other training. The six of us have trained all year in this, and it's increased our strength and abilities more than any of you could possibly guess. I'm not going to tell you how we've done it, and I'm not going to let you stop us. _We are_ the power he does not know and cannot use. We will defeat him, and only after that will you know how we've done it."

He'd released them from his spells, but no one said anything for a moment. Eventually, it was Moody who had broken the silence. "Is it a trap?"

Harry'd grinned. "Yes."

The old Auror grinned back. "Good enough for me."

Moody was the only one who left them alone after that, but no one got any answers. Harry and the others were not willing to trust that there were no more spies in their midst. Snape had taught them all one final lesson, and it was one they had all taken to heart. Nor had Harry forgotten the lesson his parents had learned too late. Everyone, including Harry, had been put under a Truth Spell and their loyalties confirmed. There was no point in taking chances, and now the could all relax in each other's presence.

And now the day had finally arrived. Both Portkeys were set to go off at the same time, so there would be no advantage to be gained by either party, but they were going in with full shields, just in case. They'd tested traveling by Portkey with a shield on, and the shield hadn't suffered for the transition. Harry had chosen noon as the time of the duel because the sun wouldn't be in anyone's eyes, no matter which way they turned. The Sword of Gryffindor and two other blades currently looked like three branches among many in the hedgerow, but the moment they were summoned, they would be visible once again.

Harry and the others had used the Room of Requirement to its limits to learn their craft, limits that included a phantom swordsman to learn sword fighting from and train against. His blows stung when they hit, but they'd never left more than bruises. Through silent example and a lot of mistakes, they had slowly but surely learned the style of the phantom, and the day that Harry, Ron and Hermione had all three beaten him more than once was the day they had sent the letter to Voldemort. At the end of that session, the Room had declared their lessons over by revealing the face of the phantom. He had solidified and removed his red phoenix mask, grinned at their astonishment and disappeared. There was one drawing of this man, and it was in _Hogwarts, A History._ He was Godric Gryffindor himself.

Harry had bought swords for Hermione and Ron from a shop in Knockturn Alley while practicing his illusions. He'd had to go there to get decent blades because the only ones sold in "respectable" shops were purely decorative. No "respectable" wizard needed a sword to use as a weapon. The only magical properties of the blades he'd bought were a charm to keep the edge keen and one to prevent rust. They were actually Muggle-made weapons, crafted by a master who charged a fair price. They were perfect for what the two mages needed.

Harry stood in the kitchen at number twelve, Grimauld Place, with Ron and Hermione. Ginny, Luna and Neville had already left to check the perimeter and the protections, knowing that it was possible that Death Eaters would be snooping around and trying to find the site of the duel. They timed it so that they would only be there for twenty minutes before the duel began, not wanting to be totally alone there for very long. They would wait it out in a fortified broom-shed with an emergency Portkey out in case the worst happened. They'd already said their own farewells.

The kitchen was full of people. Molly and Arthur were trying to convince Ron and Hermione to back our, as were the Grangers, who had been brought in by Molly as backup. Remus looked as if he would like to be doing the same thing to Harry, but instead he said, "Doctors. Molly, Arthur. You all need to stop." Molly rounded on him and would have exploded, but he held up his hand. "No, Molly. They are all grown wizards. They made this decision with their eyes open, and they've prepared for it. I have no doubt that they have a few surprises planned for Tom Riddle, and I also know better than to ask what they are. But you've got to let them go. It's not your decision."

Molly wailed, "They're only children! How can you say that?"

Ron's eighteen, Harry, Hermione, Neville and Luna are seventeen, and Ginny is only sixteen for another week. All of them have matured beautifully from the children we knew. You see all of your children as babies, and that's only natural. But this isn't about what is natural or normal. This is about six incredible young men and women doing everything they possibly can to stop a monster, to protect the people they care about. They came up with a plan when no one else could, when all the Order and the Ministry have been doing is playing catch-up. You are selling them short."

Harry smiled at his father's friend, thankful for the older man's wisdom. "No mother wants to send her sons and daughters to war, Mrs. Weasley, Mrs. Granger. But in this one battle, the war will mostly be done. We can end this!"

Molly and Mrs. Granger both would have liked to protest further, but they knew that there was nothing else they could say.

Just then the clock hands that represented Harry and Ron started to move toward Mortal Peril, which was their and Hermione's cue to grab hold of the Portkey. Harry looked at Remus and said, "Wish us luck."

And to thin air, Remus said, "Good luck, my son. You're going to need it."

* * *

One moment they were in the kitchen, and the next they were in the dueling circle, recovering from the hook-behind-the-navel feeling of the Portkey. Harry had one second to pick up the stone that had been left there and take out his wand before the other Portkey deposited three other people into the circle. Voldemort, with his pale, flat face and red eyes. Snape, looking the same as he always had. Harry knew that his Potions robes were very easy to move in, and though he despised the man, he acknowledged that he was a very good duelist. The third player was Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who had bitten both Remus and Bill, and though it was not the full moon, the three mages would still have to be cautious. Greyback bit even when he was human, and his bites were still cursed.

As soon as the three dark wizards were inside the circle, Harry launched the rock in his hand over his shoulder and into the anti-Portkey ward, activating the ward and ensuring that the only way anyone was leaving the circle was the completion of the duel. The ward flashed blue as it sprung into existence.

Snape sneered at the precaution, but said nothing. Voldemort said, "Quaint, Mr. Potter. But you have cut off your only means of escape."

Harry shrugged his indifference. "No one leaves. Win or die."

"As you wish." Voldemort was stalling, for during the tiny conversation, Snape had tried to insinuate his way into Harry's mind, and probably the others' as well.

Harry smirked as Snape's probe of Legilimensy bounced off his shields. Then he turned his full attention to Voldemort while Snape fumed at his failure. "Enough wasting time, Tom. _En guarde._" And he saluted his nemesis with his wand.

Smiling grimly, Voldemort returned the salute, and the two combatants readied themselves as the seconds parted to the sides to give them room. Not waiting for the turn-and-pace that was sometimes observed as a formality, Slytherin's heir launched an immediate attack. _"Septicemia!"_ The blood poisoning curse was a good initial move to weaken the opponent for the entire battle.

But the curse bounced off Harry's shields and he cast _locomotor mortis_, immediately following it with Snape's _sectumsempra_ curse. Voldemort was agile enough to avoid the first, and Snape had given him the counter to the second.

After that, the curses flew thick and fast for nearly an hour, and during that time, no treachery came from Snape or Greyback. Harry and Voldemort were so closely matched during this time that they might as well have called the contest a draw since Harry was using only wandcast magic, but the Dark Lord had no intention of leaving it like that.

Snape acted first, launching a bright globe of blue light with _lunorbis_. This spell simulated the light of the full moon, which immediately caused Greyback to begin transforming into his wolf form.

At this, both of Harry's seconds brought their wands out and tightened their shields. Hermione took on Snape while Ron concentrated on the wolf, well aware of what would happen if he were bitten by his opponent.

After only two minutes of that, Harry decided enough was enough. He shouted, "Now!" As one, the three mages dropped their wands and called their swords into their hands, dropping the illusions away from the blades as they flew through the air. Ron cast a shield over Greyback, a physical shield that was pointed inward so that he couldn't escape it. Hermione had set up a double layer of shields that transmuted energy into other forms, and as Snape's next two curses were absorbed by those shields, the entire hedgerow burst into a proliferation of blooms.

And Voldemort found himself unable to move. "What is this?!"

Harry ignored him and sent an arrow of power into his motor center, paralyzing him as surely as if he'd broken his back. The motor center and other bodily functions were not protected by Occulmensy because it only shrouded conscious and unconscious thoughts and memories. motion was not protected, nor autonomic functions like respiration and cardiac function. But the mere thought of killing with his mind was horrifying. He instinctively knew that he'd feel it as his enemy died, and that was not something he wished to endure. That was why he raised his blade and removed the snake's head with one clean stroke. It was a quick and painless death, more than perhaps he deserved for all the anguish he had caused, but preserving Harry's conscience.

Harry turned around to see that Snape had knocked Ron out while he was distracted by Greyback and had taken the red-head's sword. He was proving to be no mean swordsman, and he was casting curses while he engaged Hermione physically with the sword. He was like a cornered animal.

Greyback was near to breaking the shield he was under because it was not very strong with Ron unconscious. Harry slapped his own on top of it, anchoring it to a ley-line so that it wouldn't be broken until someone from the outside broke it. Then he looked to Hermione to see if she needed help. She noticed, and without taking her attention from Snape, she shouted for help.

Harry decided that distraction would be the best method, so he started attacking Snape's Occulmensy shields, blasting away at them with everything he had. It was such a shock that the Potions Master was flung backward, and Hermione immediately took advantage of the situation, flinging a cord of power toward his feet and wrapping it around him from his ankles to his neck. It was not a wizard spell, so Snape would not have the knowledge to counter it.

Harry went to Ron, gathered a little power and said, "_Enervate,_" and his second's eyes came open.

Ron looked around and blanched as he saw Voldemort's decapitated corpse. "It's done, then?"

"Almost. We have to give Luna the signal so she'll let us out of here, then I'm Gating us into the Ministry building with our prisoners and the record spheres. I don't want to have to carry the body in just to convince them he's dead. Someone else can come and get it later."

"Right." So Harry shielded the body of his fallen enemy and sent up a small bolt of power. It hit one of the shields and caused the whole structure to glow red. He then sent another one, and a golden Gryffindor Lion appeared on the red background, roaring in triumph.

Ron chuckled. "That wasn't part of the signal."

He shrugged, grinning widely. "It makes my point." If they had lost totally, the shield would have turned black, and Ginny's instructions would have been to get help, and Luna's to leave the shields intact _no matter what._ Harry had intended to defeat that prophesy at least a little by ensuring that Voldemort never escaped the trap they had set for him. But since the field was red, and with the lion clinching it, the shields collapsed around them, and the other three mages came running at them, shouting happily. Hedwig, who had been forced to remain with them in the shed, came winging over all their heads and landed on Harry's outstretched arm, scolding him soundly for leaving her behind. He petted her and told her he was sorry.

She nipped at his fingers in annoyance. _:You'd better be.:_ He swore she sometimes talked to him, her feelings were so clear. Shrugging, he turned back to what was going on around him. Ginny had been collecting the tiny recording spheres from around the circle.

Ginny, did you get all of the spheres?" She nodded, and he said, "All right. Let's get to the Ministry so we can get this over with. Neville?"

The Gate spell was the only Adept-level spell Harry had learned, pressed for time as he had been. To build a Gate, a mage needed a physical doorway as structural support for some very intense energies. Neville was going to provide that structure by manipulating the hedgerow, shaping some of the branches into a large arbor. For Neville, who shared a very strong affinity with plants, it was the work of only a few moments, and with the blossoms Hermione had caused to sprout over the entire circle, it was truly beautiful.

Harry shook his head. "It's really a shame that all of this will have to come down. But I doubt that Madame Hooch would appreciate this being in the middle of her pitch."

Chuckles met the idea. Harry settled down, then concentrated on his center so that nothing but the power within him, for only the personal energy of the mage could be used to build a Gate, and the flowered arbor entered his mind. _I call upon the Portal—_

He built the Portal from his own power, layer by layer, to anchor this location in place. Then he began the Weaving, spinning threads out like some demented spider from the framework, threads that sought a new place to anchor to. There was one place that Harry could find in his sleep due to his experiences in fifth year, and that was the door to the Department of Mysteries. He pictured the door and the corridor in detail as he sent out the threads, and they stretched toward that place, becoming finer and finer as they went, drawing their strength from him as they got further and further away so that they didn't break. It felt like he was being drained of blood by a vampire bat. Soon, the Gate actually started pulling energy out of him, and he had to fight it to keep from being totally drained.

Then the threads began to catch onto the place they were seeking. The Gate Wove itself into a temporary hole in space in a flash of brilliant white light, and then, instead of the bright day and green grass that was on the other side of the dueling circle, the arbor framed a very familiar and dark corridor. Harry sagged with exhaustion, but Ron and Neville were on either side to catch him so that he wouldn't fall. They had known that this would happen from the three times they had practiced this and were prepared for it. Hedwig cheeped worriedly, and Harry nuzzled her head, reassuring her.

* * *

Snape had been watching all of this, and he knew where they were taking him. He'd thought that he would have an opportunity to escape at some point. An inattentive guard, a well-placed distraction, and Snape would prove to be a very slippery prisoner indeed. But it would appear that they were taking no chances, transporting him directly into the Ministry building by some spell he had never seen before.

He tested the strength of his bonds. They were acting like invisible rope so perhaps—he made his decision. Quickly, using a skill no one would have guessed he possessed, Snape dislocated his own left shoulder. He'd been able to do that ever since Sirius Black had dropped him after one of his stupid pranks, and though it hurt like a knife, the situation most definitely called for it. It caused some slack in the bonds, enough for him to get his wand hand out. It was now or never.

* * *

It all happened very quickly. Hermione heard the pop of Snape's shoulder and felt the bonds go slack. She turned around. Bringing her sword to bear, and he reached out his hand and summoned his wand. He had time to re-aim and begin, _"Avada—"_ He stopped at the shock of a blade being rammed into his stomach. He had never expected to be killed by this little Mudblood witch. But he would have the last laugh! He forced every bit of magic he had left into his last word. _"Kedavera!"_

There was a type of attack written in their book called Final Strike. If a mage knew that a situation was hopeless, they could still finish what they had started and avenge themselves on their enemies. When Lily Potter had shoved every bit of magic she had into her infant son, she had used a version of Final Strike which had created a lifelong shield spell against the Killing Curse. But now that curse was also being sent with the power of Final Strike.

The problem with using wand magic and Final Strike together was not in the magic, but in the strategy. The two Strikes together would have cancelled each other out, and Harry would have at least been severely injured, if not killed. But this was a spoken curse and it was aimed with a wand, giving Harry a split second to dodge, which he did reflexively.

And the Killing Curse crashed into the Gate with all the power of a Final Strike.

The Gate lurched and bucked like a wild thing, no longer showing the corridor it had been, but a mass of bright colors and flashes of light and darkness, all of it heaving to and fro like the waters of a stormy sea, ever moving, never resting, and every bit of it vibrating with the soul-deep growl of a wounded predator, and it was still connected to Harry's energies. It started growing cancerously out of the framework into a whirling vortex and it started to pull at everything in the vicinity, but most especially at Harry, and with one final lurch, it yanked him and Hedwig out of his friends' grasp and into itself, warped back inward and collapsed in a massive explosion, knocking everyone standing into the opposite wall of the circle. Ginny stood back up immediately, staring at the place in the hedges where the Gate had been. No one could have survived that explosion. Not even Harry Potter.

They all stared dumbly at the spot for a while, but eventually the crackle of flames brought their attention back to the world around them. The explosion had set fire to the hedges, and the fire was spreading quickly, feeding off the branches and the residual energies that had infused them. It was reaching toward the mages, the retransformed Greyback, and the two corpses with alarming speed. Tears in her eyes, Ginny was, never the less, thinking clearly and quickly made a Portkey from a large branch she snapped off from one of the hedges. They no longer had the luxury of not taking the bodies with them; if they were left here they would be consumed. Not that it wasn't tempting, but practicality won out. They were needed to authenticate the record spheres. Harry's final wishes _would_ be carried out.

Making sure that the prisoner, the two bodies, the head and the five mages were all in contact with the branch, Ginny activated the Portkey and sent them all back to Grimauld Place. In their absence, the hedge was consumed completely, but the magical fires continued to burn inward and outward until the circle and half the pitch were turned black. For the first school year, as the war ended and life returned to normal, the pitch retained that burned look, as if the school were in mourning for its savior along with the rest of the world.

* * *

Harry was thrown into the place between the Gates with no place to anchor onto. Blind and in pain, he could only pray, over and over again, that the Gate would put him into a safe place. Safety to Harry was, on a bone-deep level, a much different concept from that of others. Safety meant shelter, but it also meant escapability, ease of gathering food and water, and a place without walls. It didn't mean comfort or warmth, and it certainly didn't mean people.

Gates usually needed a more tailored description of their destination, but this was no normal Gate. It had been supercharged in a way that attracted creatures from the Empyreal Plane who expected to have to deal with it. But in finding that the Gate was occupied, the decided to guide it into a place that matched what Harry most desperately wanted and where he could find help quickly for the magical drainage that was occurring. There were many places on many worlds that would have matched his desire, but only one world was close enough, and the book in his pack clinched the exact spot for them. Someone would need to help him deal with _that_, as well.

With their help, a much more stable Gate opened out from the mouth of a cave in a hilly, lightly wooded area. Harry fell to the ground, unconscious. The Gate closed without his help, the last creature to leave waiting long enough to dismiss it and return what it could of the young man's energy to him.

Hedwig, who was totally unsettled by having been trapped between the Gates with Harry, squawked indignantly at being deposited so abruptly. She hopped to the mouth of the cave, and seeing that there was a small stream flowing close by and ample small game, she decided to let her master rest. This was a good place. She pulled his cloak over him as best she could since he was laying on some of it. It was turning dark, which was her normal hunting time, but in the face of this emergency, she felt it could wait until morning. She perched next to Harry and watched the entrance, standing guard while he slept.

* * *

_Well, I hope you enjoyed reading this. I'm still working on everything else, so I can't guarantee a timeline for updates, but this will be a novel length fic eventually. As always, reviews are welcome._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Author's note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed for me. This will be a novel-length AU story, and Harry will visit many of the realms in Velgarth. I don't want to say too much, as the story is in the journey, but rest assured that our dear Harry will find himself in Valdemar eventually. I thought of planting him there in the very beginning, but that seemed too pat, as if Valdemar were the only worthwhile place on the planet. While the Heralds are undeniably Gryffindorish in attitude, there needs to be a better balance in Harry, I think, before he's right to become a Herald. He needs to grow up a bit, and in a setting that doesn't resemble in any way Hogwarts. The Collegium would not provide the change of pace he needs to bring out a little more of the other houses in him. Since we will be visiting Hardorn at some point, I should say that this is a future story, long after the Owl Knight trilogy. No canon characters should make any appearances, save in passing conversations. While this is NOT slash, keep in mind that Myste does not shy away from such pairings, so if something is mentioned, don't squick out on me. SensiblyTainted, OFC means original female character, may or may not be Mary Sue. Not in this case, don't worry.

Sorry I took so long. RL interfered in a major way. My husband and I bought a house, my office is still a shambles from the move, my new cat has taken up a lot of my time, and so has my new job. But none of my stories has left my mind, and plotbunnies have still been known to take up residence in the house, much to the annoyance of the cat. I named her Ms. Priss, by the way. She's an ordinary black-and-white tabby, but she is of the belief that she is the supreme being of the universe due to her mouse-catching abilities, and will not be told otherwise.

One more quick note; I found another ML crossover. It's a masterful beginning—with no ending. And it hasn't been updated since 11/04. "Dragon Herald", by Mystica, is story #2147339. I'd love to pester her into starting again, but I'm not sure she's listening.

That's enough longwindedness from me. Enjoy!

* * *

**Finding Home**

Two

_Hawksnest, Ruvan..._

When Bristian, a White Winds Master and bonded mercenary riding with Joseff's Sunhawks, was awakened by an insistent tapping at the glass window of his cabin in Hawksnest, he was not much pleased. The Hawks had just come back from a major campaign in Velvar two weeks ago, one which had turned into a mage battle when their opponents had hired a blood-path Adept. It had taken everything he and two other master mages had to destroy the Adept, which had released half of the opponent's army from his control and won them the campaign, and they were still recovering. He needed what rest he could get.

He groaned and sat up in bed, twisting his neck a bit until it popped maddeningly, a habit which often annoyed others in the company, but which was necessary for his own comfort. He took his dressing gown from the chair beside the bed and stood, putting it on as he walked to the window. If this was Joseff, he was going to have to knock the man's head over a—_What in seven Hells is that?_

The window was not made from near-invisible flat glass, which Bristian had seen only once in a mage's home. Instead, it was two shutters of less expensive sheet glass, made from sand, red lead and potash, all mixed and melted together, then poured onto a sheet and spread out with a metal tool. The tool removed any bubbles from the mix, which would weaken it, and it left the glass with swirling patterns of ridges on one side. Looking through such glass was not like looking through open air. The glass distorted the view of what was on the other side. What Bristian saw was a blurred and wavy white shape moving behind the glass shutters.

Caution was the only way a mercenary lived long enough to retire, and this could be some mage-born monstrosity sent to exact vengeance for one of his past enemies. After all, he had become a mercenary for many reasons, not the least of which was that he had meddled in affairs that were not necessarily his own, making him a very powerful enemy in the south. He didn't open the window, instead going around to the door and sliding his corner tool, a small silver mirror mounted to a rod, underneath it so that he could see the creature at his window.

It was a huge white owl! What, by the Windborn, was a white owl doing trying to get in his window? The only white owls he had ever heard of came out of the Pelagirs, and they were usually on the arm of a Hawkbrother. There was no reason at all for one to be this far east.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he stood up nad opened the door. The owl heard it and turned its head from where it was hovering around the window, then flapped once and glided toward the open door. Quickly stepping back in case the bird should attack him, Bristian watched it fly soundlessly through the room and land on the bed.

The owl cheeped at him, looking sideways at him as only an owl could, and then hopped over to his wardrobe and screeched at him in a demanding fashion. Still suspicious, especially at the obvious intelligence of the bird, he looked at it with Mage Sight. She was visible, even obvious, and she looked like a little human girl, one who was distraught. Switching back to normal sight, he saw her actually opening his wardrobe and yanking on his clothing. Obviously, she wanted him dressed, but why?

He thought about it. There was no taste of darkness or blood-magic in her aura, and she seemed rather desperate. Someone was in trouble, someone she cared about. She wanted Bristian to help this person.

There would be no use in telling the bird that he was a mercenary and would expect payment; she wouldn't understand. The little girl she appeared as to Mage-Sight was about three years old, and all she cared about was that her person needed help, help that a mage could give. And if she was seeking outside help at all, he was alone and in grave danger. Very well. The person would simply owe him.

He dressed quickly, then left his cabin and walked toward the stables to collect one of the Shina'in-bred remounts that the company had bought from the Talesedrin horse fair this season. They were beautiful and hardy animals with better balance and more strength and endurance than any other breed available off the Dorisha Plains.

Moris, the stable-master, said, "Where're you headed so early? I thought you'd still be abed after that last fight."

"The bird is insistent that I follow her." Moris hadn't seen her until she was mentioned and gasped. Yet more evidence that she had been mage-touched. "I suppose that if someone needs help and can afford it, they'll pay me, and if they can't, they'll do some work around here until they can."

"Where'd she come from?"

"I don't know. She woke me up flapping at my window. But she's more than what she looks to be. I think she might nave been born in the Pelagirs, though she hasn't said so."

Moris shook his head. "I'll leave the magiking to you, mate. You'll be wanting one of the Plains group?" Bristian nodded and Moris went into the paddock to fetch a chestnut mare who had a sweet temperment, one of Bristian's favorite mounts. She was a pretty little thing, with two white socks and a blaze, and she was more intelligent than most of the other horses in the group.

The mage saddled her quickly and then turned to the snow-white owl. Seeing him ready to leave, she launched off of the paddock railing and flew ahead of him, intent on leading him to her injured human. Bristian shook his head in wonderment. This was going to be a very interesting morning.

* * *

The cave was only half a day's ride from Hawksnest, and Bristian was grateful for that. He hadn't brought much in the way of supplies, deciding that the owl wouldn't have gone too far to find help if her master was that bad off. She seemed impatient with him, and was constantly cheeping at him. He could have sworn she was telling him to hurry up.

When he arrived, he dismounted in front of the cave she had led him to and walked to the entrance, peering into the shadows within it. A young man, perhaps seventeen, lay on the sandy floor of the cave, which had been carved out of the hillside by the river before it had changed it's course a few generations before. He was naturally fair-skinned, but he was also so pale his skin looked transparent. His jet black hair was plastered to his skull by persperation, though the morning was quite cool. Bristian couldn't decide what the lenses were that hung from wires across his face, but it was obvious just from looking at them that they would change the way the boy saw the world. One of them was broken, and Bristian moved the glass away so that it wouldn't get into his eye.

Looking at him with Mage-Sight was quite an experience. The boy's aura was violet, and it was powerful. A mage's aura was usually blue, unless they were a bloodmage, and then it would be red, no matter how much or how little they used it. With the boy, blood barely tinted his magic, and Bristian wasn't sure what to make of that. The aura didn't feel dangerous, but he would bear watching.

Knowing that the boy was experiencing reaction shock, Bristian didn't waste any more time wondering about him. He shielded his mind as heavily as he could, then reached down and picked the boy up. That was when he saw the scar on the forehead and the whitening roots in the part of his hair, but he didn't stop to worry about them. He didn't think the boy would survive this if he didn't get to help as soon as possible. Bristian slung him across the back of the mare and lashed him to her with rope so he wouldn't fall off if he went into convulsions. The owl chittered at him a little, obviously worried, but she allowed him to do it. Then he mounted himself and set off at a gallop for Hawksnest.

The trip was not a fun one for the boy, who often moaned in pain. Bristian wished he was a Mindspeaker so he could warn the Healers of what he was bringing them, or that he was a Healer himself so he could eliminate some of the boy's pain, but if wishes were horses, how beggars would ride. But finally, just as the sun started setting, the chestnut mare reached the gates of village, and Bristian started shouting for the Healers.

* * *

_Pain._ Harry's brain and body were alive with it, pulsing with agony at the beating of his heart. But as an indeterminate amount of time passed, it lessened gradually, until he could hear a voice gently whispering to him to come to wakefulness. Even such a small whisper stung against his bruised mind, but he was able to use it as a ballast and return to full consciousness.

What the hell had happened? He remembered Snape casting the Killing Curse and then himself ducking—the Gate! He sat up like a shot, and then immediately regreted it when his head exploded with pain. A young man in dark green robes came running into the room with a concerned look on his face. He started speaking in a foriegn language, but though Harry couldn't understand his words, he understood that the man wanted him to lie back down. The light whisper that he recognized from his coma spoke into his mind. He thought he must be a mediwizard. _:You're not ready to be up and around yet, young man. You must let your mind and body heal from this ordeal.:_ Harry would have answered him back in kind, but he shook his head. _:No. You're not ready for that either. I immagine you were going to ask what happened to you. We're not exactly sure, but we do know that you were suffering from a severe case of backlash, Bristian says probably from a Gate. You now have a streak of bright white hair just above that remarkable scar on your forehead. You will recover fully, I promise. You should be able to handle drinking some broth later tonight, but for now, I want you to rest.:_

Harry thought about being rebelious, but the swimming in his head was enough to advise him against it. He nodded a little to show his compliance.

_:Alright. I'll leave and let you rest, but I'll be back later. Does that owl of yours need anything? Don't talk; just think of your response.:_

_She just needs hunting and water. Thank you._

_:You're welcome.:_ The young mediwizard left the room. Harry wanted to think about what had happened and where he had found himself, but he could no longer keep his eyes open and he fell into a deep, healing sleep.

* * *

"Bristian! Do you plan on letting me settle my debt any time soon?" Harry had awakened six months ago in the cair of mercenaries who had found him after a campain in Jkatha, his hair streaked white, his brain on fire, and his owl driving everyone to distraction. Harry hadn't known the language, hadn't understood where he was or why his friends weren't standing around him. Eventually, he'd conjured a quill and a bit of parchment, spelled it to be readable in any language, and started learning both the Trade language and the answers to his questions, at least as much of them as the mercenaries could answer. Josef's Sunhawks didn't have much knowlege of magic, but Bristian, a Master-class mage who was one of their number, knew enough to tecognize the signs of a Gate gone wrong. He had taught the young wizard all he could, helping him to restabilize his magic.

"Yes, lad. You're ready. You may have to wait until tomorrow to sell those stones of yours, though. Abidan isn't sure when he'll be able to resell them and he's trying to get world from several buyers who will be in the area soon." Harry had determined, once he knew in whose company he was, that he would pay for those services which had been rendered to him, and he had two ready sources of cash; fifty gold Galleons and the sixteen egg-sized rubies from the sword of Gryffindor. But he had to sell the stones before he could get a new housing for the magically forged blade. He was keeping one of them, an absolutely flawless stone that he intended to have set as a [pendant and use as his focus. It practically sang nest to his magic, and he didn't want to part with it.

Bristian had been able to teach him so much! And Harry was very grateful. He'd tried to give the older mage one of the rubies whole in payment, but Bristian had refused to cheat the naive young man, saying that the lessons had only been worth half of even the smallest of those rubies.

But now Harry was getting ready to leave, and he anted his debt setled before he went. His grief at realizing that he would never see his friends again demanded that he set his hooves to the open road, and pray their memories didn't haunt him.

No one in the entire camp had recognized the names of places that he'd talked about, so he'd asked to see a map, and that was when he had realized that he "wasn't in Kansas anymore." No where on Earth sported such a pair of perfectly round craters, linked by forests filled with magical men and birds, as well, rumor had it, as monsters. No where on Earth could people who had no magic have been so aware of it, nor would they have dressed like these people, in plain wools and leathers, with leather armor for battle and swords, axes and knives on the battlefield. Wherever he was, there were no explosives, no air plaines, no guns, and no telecommunications. The highest artifical technology was coming out of a northern country called Valdemar, and it was essentially a steam powered car. It worked, but it was far too noisy yet to be of any use, and Henry Ford's ideas hadn't been heard of.

How his Gate had been thrown so far off like that, Harry and Bristian could only guess. The fact that Snape's attack sounded like a Final Strike probably had something to do with it, but no one could be sure. The only thing they _were_ sure of was that there was no going back. Harry would have to find his way in this new world. There was no other choice.

Of course, Harry had started new before, when he first found out about the wizarding world, but that had been something that was a part of him, as well as allowing him to excape from his relatives for most of the year. Once the really bad stuff started happening, Harry had already considered the wizarding world his home. His friends were there. The Weasleys, who had practically adopted him as a seventh son, were ther. Ginny was there.

And now he would never see any of them ever again. Was he a coward to want to run from that pain? He'd have to face it some time, unless he planned to live his life in Animagus form. Sirius had used the form of the dog to filter his thoughts when he was being assaulted by Dementors. No Harry was planning to do the same as the God Dog, what the Native American Indians had called the horse. His equine form had surprised him when he completed the Animagus transformation for the first time. He'd thought he would end up a stag, like his father, but apparantly his personality was his own creation, and he would become a coal-black stallion, a white blaze in the middle of his forehead where his scar was. He'd also noticed the numbing effect that the transformation had on his emotions. If it was cowardly, he didn't care. At least, not for now.

Josef walked into the inn where Harry was staying and to the table he and Bristian were sitting at. "Well, Harry, we're going to be sad to see you go. I still think you would have made a fine merc, made plenty of money."

Harry shook his head. "I just got through fighting a war to save the people I love, Josef. People I can't even grieve for properly. They're alive, but I've still lost them." He sighed. "You may think I'd be good—"

Josef interrupted. "You'd be great."

"But I'm tired. I've been fighting Voldemort in one way or another for nearly half my life. I just want peace and quiet for a while."

The mercenary captain sighed and nodded. "I understand. This company is my life, but it can't be that way for everyone." He looked up. "Ah. There's Abidan. I see you and he have much to discuss."

* * *

In the end, Harry ended up with quite a heavy purse despite settling his debt with the Healers and the mages. He settled with the inn, and then set out to buy himself what he felt he would need for the trip. He bought travel clothes and town clothes, two good pair of boots, a set of leather armor, a new grip for Gryffindor that was more prac tical while still being beautiful, and an assortment of daggers and throwing knives. He bought trail rations, as well, though he planned to graze as a horse rather than eat them. Finally he bought a canteen, a lode stone and a map. He did not buy a horse or a saddle, which confused the supply sergent, but when questioned, he just smiled and went on.

All of it fit in Harry's trunk, which was actually charmed bottomless, and Harry shrank the trunk before he left. He strung it on a leather thong so that it would hang to his belt when he put it around his neck, but he didn't put it on just yet. Instead, he went and found Bristian. "Come see me off?"

The two men stood at the edge of the town, just on the other side of the gates, and looked out toward the horizon. "It's a long journey you have ahead of you, lad." Bristian thought about something and looked back at Harry. "Where's your gear? Surely you're not planning to make this trip with no provisions!"

Harry snorted in amusement. "No." He held up his shrunken trunk. "It's all right here." He sat the trunk down on the ground and nullified the shrinking charm he'd put on it. The trunk quickly reverted to its full size, much to the amazement of the mage standing next to it. He repeated the charm and the trunk was once again the size of a pendant, about two inches long.

Bristian shook his head in amazement. "You are truly amazing, my friend. I wish you would stay. I believe we would have much to teach one another." For a moment, Harry was tempted. Not the life of a soldier, but that of a teacher, a profession he knew that he would have enjoyed if he'd grown up in peace time. But he hadn't, and a sedentary profession, no matter how rewarding, would give him far too much time to think about the past and wallow in it.

"I'm sorry, Bristian. I need time, time to run without thinking, time to mourn. I have to go."

Bristian sighed. "You're traveling on foot?"

"In a manner of speaking. I could travel on a flying broom, but I don't want to frighten people." He whistled loudly, and Hedwig soon flew over the wall to join them. She landed on Harry's outstretched gloved hand. "Hello there, Hedwig. You mind resting on Bristian for a moment?" The bird glared at him. "Just for a moment, I promise." She huffed, but then hopped over to Bristian's shoulder. "There, thanks."

Then Harry proceeded to transfugure himself into a seventeen-hand* black stallion. He was amused to find that both mane and tail were completely white, like the new streak of white he'd woken up with in his human hair. As a stallion, human worries weren't as close, and he whickered in relief. It wasn't like he had forgotten, but a horse knows that nature must take its course, and he is not as grieved by loss.

But he returned to his human form so that he could explain things to Bristian. "You know, you're doing a remarkable impression of a landed fish."

Bristian closed his mouth with a snap. "H-how-?"

"The Animagus transformation; a difficult spell to master, but it's well worth it once you've gotten used to it. It's very freeing to run as an animal, and Midnight is a very strong, very fast horse. I'll be able to go anywhere I want, and if I run out of food, I can forage rather than hunt."

A flaw came to Bristian immediately. "You aren't branded. Farmers and other passers by may see you and want such an unusual stallion for themselves. A horse looking like that would fetch a fine price, even from the horse breeders of the west."

"I'm fast and unencumbered. I'll be able to out run and out manuver them."

Bristian nodded. "Make sure you practice. A good horseman trains his beast, especially those who wish to capture other horses, and you may be facing some of the best-trained animals in the world as their masters try to catch you." He shook his head. "You are certainly the most singular mage I've ever heard of. If you ever do settle somewhere, I hope you'll start a school. The world could benefit from what you have to teach it."

But Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. The kind of magic you learn takes time and discipline to learn, as well as a knowledge of the true nature of magic and the earth. It's harder. Wizardry is not only easier, but it has moe varied effects. It does so much more, and with far fewer consequences. That might make it easier for children to learn, but in this world, it would give evil a powerful weapon. You don't need a Voldemort here."

"Evil will always find a way to prosper."

"Of course. But I will not help it."

Bristian smiled. "You are wiser than your years, Harry. Fair journey, my friend." He clasped Harry's hand in farewell.

"You take care of yourself, Bristian. Will you put this around my neck?" He handed his trunk over and transformed once again.

Bristian slipped the leather over the stallion's neck, then looked at him and said, "I think you should change that sobriquet of yours. Midnight isn't as accurate any more."

The Animagus thought about it, then sent a thought into Bristian's mind through his magic. _:Moonnight:_ Then he bowed in farewell, turned and began his wandering at an easy canter. Hedwig launched herself from Bristian's shoulder to follow her person.

Bristian watched until the pair had crested the hill on the horizon and gone beyond it. Only then did he say, "I hope you find peace, young one." Then he turned and walked back inside the gates, the settng sun at his back.

* * *

_*About horse height:_

_This article was refferenced by Answers dot com._

_Veterinary Dictionary: mustang  
American for feral horse, also charitably described as a scrub-type of light horse varying a good deal in conformation. Any color, 14 to 15 hands high. Descended from the horses brought into Central America by Spanish conquistadores._

_Wild horses are smaller and more suited to long distances. At seventeen hands, he's big for this kind of horse, but he's strong and fast, as well as having high endurance. You have to remember that this is magic. It doesn't have to make sense, though we're all glad when it actually does._

_Thanks to Blazing Aurora for getting me to look it up! ^_~_


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: See Chapter One._

_Author's Note: I fixed one item in Chapter 2, and now this chapter is done. It feels good to be writing again, and I think it's helped me with a lot of things at home. Thanks to everyone who reviewed._

**Finding Home**

Chapter Three

Harry lost track of how long he wandered exactly, but the seasons changed at least twice, and as autumn began to seep into winter, the thought that he needed to find shelter for the cold months began to percolate through his equine brain. As the first snow began to fall, he saw a city on a hill, the only such habitation he had seen since high summer. He gathered his magic about him and returned to his human form. It was hard, voluntarily moving back into his small, slow human body, but once the reversion was complete, he was glad to be on two feet for a while.

Hedwig lit on Harry's shoulder and nipped him affectionately on the cheek, as if to say that he was being a silly hatchling. "I know, Hed. Come on. Let's see if we can't get something warm and dry for the winter." He unshrank his trunk and took out his thick black woolen cloak, thankful that it didn't have the Hogwarts crest embroidered on it. He had no wish to explain the emblem. He donned the cloak and reshrank the trunk, hanging it from his neck once again. Now suitably dressed for the weather, he put his hood up and began walking down the swiftly-softening road toward the city.

When Harry had bought his map back in Hawksnest, he had charmed it with one of the smaller charms that made up the Marauder's Map back home. The map showed his position on it when the charm was activated. The city he was now approaching was the Throne City of Jkatha. Its thick walls were made with stone from the nearby mountains, quarried over time and brought in by builder after builder in the city's long history. The gates were iron and the whole sight was imposing, but Harry had seen and lived in a far more impressive structure. Castles didn't unduly impact him.

The gates were open, as midday was usually a time of heavy merchant traffic. Harry was required, as were all travelers, to register his name and business with the gate guards, so he was led to a small office by the Gate Captain, a large man of solid build, mouse-gray hair, and an uncompromising face. "Have a seat. What's your name, sir?"

"Harry of James." It was normal for folk, he'd been told, to use only theirs and their father's familiar names unless they were noblemen.

"Well, Harry, what brings a young mage to the Throne City without a horse to carry him?"

Harry frowned, chagrined at having been made so quickly as a mage, but he decided to use it. "I've no need of a horse to travel quickly, but I do need work so I can earn shelter for the winter."

"You can't just call it up?"

Harry snorted. "I could, but it would be a waste of energy when earning a living would be both more honest and more satisfying, not to mention easier."

The Captain grinned. "Aye, it likely would." He paused to write Harry's name and business in his book. "Well, there is the Main Guild Hall of Mages in the Southwestern Quarter, and they've got any kind of contract you may be looking for as a mage. There are a few high-end inns in that area, as well, if it takes you a while to find a job. Of course, if you've the means, you could just rent yourself a room without getting that job, but you might be very bored."

Harry made a face at the thought of sitting on his rump for four months of winter. "Thanks for the information. What gave me away, anyhow?"

The Captain pointed at Harry's head, and for a moment he thought the man was going to talk about his scar, but instead he said, "Not many young men have white hair, and those I've seen always want to know where to find the Mage Guild."

"Ah." Working with nodes did cause that effect, though Harry's had been caused by being trapped inside a Gate. "I forgot. Well, thanks, Captain. I'll be on my way, now." Harry wondered if he, eventually, would have completely white hair and pale blue eyes. He didn't like the idea of losing the vibrant green which had been his only gift from his mother.

The Captain gave him directions to the Mage Guild, and Harry carefully wound his way through the busy streets of Jkatha's biggest city. When he reached it, it was very obvious that this place was very different from the other businesses in the area. For one, the building was made of wood, rather than native stone, and for another the shingle was written, not pictorial. Most mages had to know how to read and write, as learning from books was part of their training.

The interior was equally strange when compared to the average business establishment, with the only candles burning being scented ones. Instead, blue and yellow mage lights lit the Hall, which was a room of equal size to Hogwarts' Great Hall, if not equal height. There was a large board set up on the left hand side of the Hall with hundreds of paper slips tacked to it, presumably job postings. The back half of the Hall was set up as a dining area for the various mages and student mages who worked at the Hall itself, and the front half was set up much like an employment agency. In the distance, the sound of a muffled explosion reminded Harry forcefully of One of Neville Longbottom's various magical accidents, and he couldn't help but grin.

Hedwig, who had been riding on Harry's cushioned shoulder, took off to roost amongst the rafters, leaving her human to conduct his business. He went to the posting board and began reading through the many advertisements. There were plenty of contracts available for one or two years, but finding one for just the winter was going to be difficult. Finally, one posting looked promising, a temporary posting with one of the local noblemen, a Lord Gant of Bariwethin. He stated in his ad that the job included things like evening entertainments and accounting, but mostly consisted of protecting Gant's property from brigands. Harry was good at math, so the accounting wouldn't be a problem, and he knew he'd be able to pull off a few tricks the locals had never seen before, so that left the protection. Harry would have to make sure he knew what that protection entailed before he signed any contract, but it looked like a good job for him, as long as he could ensure that the contract was only three or four months long. He still itched to be on the road.

Harry pulled the posting off the board and took it to the receptionist at her desk in front of the hiring hall. She had a bright expression and looked "terminally perky," as Hermione would have said. Harry forced his thoughts not to settle on his childhood friend, refocusing on the woman, who said, "Welcome to Jkatha's Throne City. What can the Mage Guild do for you?"

He smiled and said, "I'm looking for work, just over the winter. This post looked line it would be perfect." He handed the advert over to the bubbly receptionist.

"Yes, Lord Gant will be by in the morning. Are you a bonded Guild Mage?" She pulled a sheet of parchment off a stack on the left-hand side of the desk.

"No. I've only recently completed my training. This will be my first paying job."

"What school of magery are you associated with?"

"We're new to this area, so you may not have heard of us. We're called the Sorcerers of the Wand, and we tend to have a much broader view of what is possible and what is not." In demonstration, Harry took out his wand and aimed it at the eagle quill she was using to keep her records. He said nothing, casting his spell wordlessly, and transfigured the quill into a gilded pen with a nib, something that was actually very easy because the two objects served the same purpose.

She held it up and looked at it, or rather, looked _through_ it. This was what made Harry realize that she was a mage herself. She was looking at the pen with Mage Sight. "Interesting. I can see that the pen still wants to be a quill. And this isn't an illusion! The latticework is amazing!" She stared at it a while, then shook herself and turned her attention back to Harry. "Very well. As you are obviously an Adept, the contract won't require that you be bonded, but it would be a positive for you in Lord Gant's sight. Can I have your nave for the record?"

"Harry of James."

She scribbled down a note on her sheet, then said, "Be back here at first light. Lord Gant will come here before he conducts any other business. There are plenty of inns right here close, so you needn't worry about being late if you are careful. Do you have the coin for one night's stay?"

Harry nodded, valiantly keeping himself from snorting. He had enough for a year if he was so minded.

"Good. See you in the morning, then."

* * *

Harry stayed that night at an inn called the Boar's Head, and just hearing the name made him think of home, because it was a small leap indeed from "Boar's Head" to "Hog's Head". Harry was not happy with his reaction, and while sitting down to his dinner, a small meal of good beef stew and a thick slice of good, crusty bread, served with tea, he took stock of himself and his emotions. He knew that he couldn't go on reacting to every little memory from his former life with such extremes of loss and longing. He didn't even _like_ the Hog's Head!

So Harry took his emotions and stuffed them behind and Occulmensy shield, at least his emotional responses to the past. All except the ones concerning Ginny. No, he couldn't bear to lock her in a box and close himself off from her memory. She would just have to remain as the lone boggart in the closet, free to come out and torment him whenever he came near it. But for everything else, he needed clarity, and dwelling on the past was doing him absolutely no good. In fact, he thought it might be driving himself insane.

Harry sat back and sighed with relief as his emotions settled down. He decided that he would use the Pensieve he had gotten for his seventeenth birthday when he got up to his room, remove the memories of his friends and adoptive family, save Ginny, and put them safely where they could no longer harm him.

* * *

Lord Gant was a tall, slightly overweight man in his early fifties, with iron-gray hair, small, greedy eyes and a permanent expression of calculation, and he'd remind Harry of Uncle Vernon, except that there was plenty of intelligence in that look, as well. He looked Harry up and down as he came in for his interview and sniffed disdainfully. "Aren't you a bit young to be an Adept, Harry of James?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the man's skepticism. "Would my Lord care for a demonstration?"

Gang nodded and Harry stood, pushing his chair back into place as he did so. He took out his wand and decided to funnel an Adept-level spell through the wand, rather than the ruby at his throat. Harry drew gently from a nearby ley-line, not really needing much power for this spell, but not wanting to expend any of his own energy, either. He said, "Compaxus," and aimed the spell at a targeting dummy that was there for the purpose. The dummy expanded briefly, then contracted until it was a tiny shadow of its former self, then handed it to Gant. The man nearly stumbled from the weight of it, as Harry, who had been expecting it, did not.

"What did you do?"

"I've made the dummy smaller, but not lighter. I can make it smaller and smaller until it is so small it can't hold together anymore. It would be consumed and cause an enormous, deadly explosion. Not a spell to trifle with, certainly. But if used wisely, it can also make mining a breeze, as it can differentiate between one kind of rock and another, such as emeralds and the quartz they are contained in." Harry shrugged. "That's just an example, of course."

Gant huffed and pushed the compacted dummy off the table. Harry reversed the spell, and the dummy returned to normal. Gant pinned a look on Harry that told him to watch himself. "Very well, you'll do. You will be expected to protect my property from thieves during the winter, as well as go over my records for accounting mistakes and providing entertainment for the long winter nights. I'll be frank, son of James; I don't trust magic, but I've been informed that some of my enemies may be using mages to come in and steal from me. I will expect you to report to me daily, understood?"

Harry nodded, and he thought seriously about what he was getting himself into. This man was so much like Vernon, it was uncanny, and knowing that, Harry was seriously considering changing his mind. Being in a house with this man for three months was going to be tedious, to say the least, and it might become very bad indeed. But, he also reasoned, there would be no constant returning to the man's household year after year, no old man telling him that it was for the best, and no restriction on using magic to defend himself. He decided to go ahead and look at the contract.

The document was actually fairly straight-forward. Harry of James was agreeing to look after the interests of Lord Gant of Beriwethin, to protect his property, his lands and his people, for a period not to exceed four months and not less than three months, excluding violation of conscience or law. It was a standard Guild contract, not one written by Gant himself, so it was far more trustworthy. Thinking carefully, Harry made a drastic decision. There was protective wording in the contract that he wanted to be upheld, but there was only one way to force a Muggle into a magically binding contract.

Harry signed his name with a quill he conjured, a quill he swore he would never use again. Then he handed the quill to Gant to use in signing his part of the contract. Seeing that it wrote in red ink, but that it needed no ink well, Gant quickly scrawled his name, so quickly that he didn't register the pain in his hand until after he'd handed the quill back. He scowled at Harry when his own signature was suddenly cut into the back of his hand. "What did you do to me?"

Harry smiled and showed his own signature on his hand, next to the faint scar which read, "I must not tell lies." "It's a blood quill, m'lord. Having signed the contract in our own blood, the contract has become magically binding to both of us, inviolable. It would kill me if I broke it. Likewise, I am certain that no accident will befall my pay."

Gant slapped Harry across his face, surprising him. "You'll pay for that, I promise you." He stalked away, shouting as he left, "Be at Beriwethin by sundown, James!"

The young mage who worked as a receptionist approached Harry as Gant left. "What just happened here?"

Harry grinned. "I took your standard contract and tricked him into signing it with his own blood, just as I did. He can't breach it and neither can I. It protects us both, really, but I don't think he appreciates that fact." He handed her the contract to file. "How do I get to Beriwethin?"

* * *

The long months weren't as bad as life had been at the Dursleys' but this was not because of any lack of Gant's trying. He was a toad, but he was afraid of Harry, and that mostly kept him in line. Still, Harry's quarters were in with the servants, and he kept Harry working at almost all hours. He only got four hours to himself a night for sleeping, and he started using a time turner to stretch it into six. Harry did things that most mages would have blown their contracts for, but Harry was used to much worse, and he couldn't violate his contract. His room was plain and full of old, broken furniture, but Harry quickly transfigured the lot into a comfortable suite with a four-post bed covered in a thick duvet, and included charmed toilet facilities.

It was when Gant's men brought in a struggling boy of eleven or twelve years into the Great Hall where Harry was working on the books that his troubles really started. He was studying the accounts diligently, convinced that there was something funny about them, when they threw the boy at his feet. "This one was caught stealing from the granary. Gant told us to bring all thieves to you."

Harry nodded, then said, "Leave us." The guards hesitated. "Do you have a hearing problem?" he asked, an edge of danger in his voice. They hastily retreated, closing the great wooden doors behind them. Harry aimed his wand at the doors, locking them with a quick spell. He sighed. Given what he already suspected about Gant's taxing practices, the boy was probably only trying to get food for his family. Gant's _reported_ tax rates were reasonable, but what his men brought in was far in excess of those reasonable rates, and no one from the capital had ever inquired about extra money, so he knew that they had never seen it. The only thing he still needed was concrete proof to bring before the King of Jkatha, but he'd been unsuccessful, so far, in finding it.

Turning his attention to the boy, who was clearly very frightened, Harry said, "What's your name, son?"

"Kline, m'lord."

"How many years do you have?"

"Twelve."

"And were you stealing from the granary, Kline?"

Kline stood up from the floor and looked Harry straight in the eyes, getting his measure. Then he calmly said, "Yes, I were. But I wouldn't 'a if we 'ad food ah home. Them toughs o' Laird Gant's steals from us 'n calls it taxes. Ih only be fair tat we steal back wot 'e took." Tears of anger rolled down Kline's face, but he stayed calm. "Me Ma's turned sick, m'lord. She ain' gonna make ih thru winter wi'out food."

Harry didn't sigh or nod. "How much did you take?"

"One sack 's big 's me 'ead."

"Less than half a full sack, then. Well that gives me two choices under the law. I can take your hand and send you back home immediately." Kline cringed, but said nothing and Harry was sure he was making the right decision. "Or I can enslave you for the remainder of my own contract. Which will it be, Kline?" He carefully didn't tell the boy how short a time that enslavement would be. Harry only had one month left in his contract.

Kline was surprised. "Yer givin' me t'e choice?"

"Yes, I am. Choose carefully."

Kline didn't have to think about it. Without his hand, he'd be worse than useless. "I'll be yer slave, t'en."

"Alright, then. We'll begin directly after supper."

* * *

It was two weeks before Gant ever saw the boy, and when he did, Harry was directing Kline in the cleaning of Gant's stables. He said, "Why is that boy here?"

"Because he was given to me as a thief and he is performing his punishment as my slave until my contract is done. He will work without pay until I release him."

"Why did you not have his hand removed?"

Harry glared at the cruel man. "Because he took less than half a sack of grain and he is the only male of his family. the law is quite clear on that point, and by my contract, I cannot breach the law."

Gant walked away, but from that point on, his eyes followed Harry wherever he went. That was what Harry wanted. He used himself as a distraction, visiting the boy's mother and feeding her from his own wages, giving the excuse that he was contract-bound to look after Gant's people. He made himself a right nuisance, keeping Gant's eyes on him. He asked nosy questions of visiting nobles and merchants. He put his nose into secret corners, and though he found nothing, it made Gant very nervous.

All of this left the way clear for Kline to sneak quietly into the treasury with Harry's wizard camera, a gift from Arthur Weasley. He took pictures of everything, including the corrected accounting records which were in the treasure room. The amount of embezzled funds in Gant's coffers would have fed his entire constituency for a year, and fed them well.

On the last day of his contract, Harry was extremely busy, as Gant fond all sorts of things that absolutely _had_ to have Harry's particular touch. Kline asked him several times if they could go yet, with the impatience of any young boy. Harry tried to keep him quiet long enough to get them and Elma, Kline's mother, out of harm's way.

Harry didn't quite dare go against Gant's interests directly while still under the contract, but an hour before sunset on the last day, he asked Hedwig to deliver a letter to the King of Jkatha in the Throne City. The letter contained the photos Kline had taken and Harry's own calculations. Gant walked into Harry's rooms just in time to see him launch Hedwig out the window. He saw the envelope she was carrying and growled, "What was that?"

Harry shrugged. "A letter. Come to see me off?"

Gant snarled "Hardly. Someone saw your boy in my private treasury, James. I've come to collect him."

"He didn't steal form you, Gant. I asked him to go there. He used a spelled object of mine to capture images of the vault and its contents."

Knowing instantly that Harry must have sent these images to the King in order to expose his tricky accounting, Gant drew his sword and advanced on Harry, intent on killing him. How he thought he could get the drop on a mage of Harry's strength was anyone's guess, but Harry's own Gryffindor sword was in his hand in an instant. He blocked the lunge, forcing the blow up and over his head and then to his right, then closed with lightning speed and elbowed Gant in the nose. Then he drew his wand and shouted, "Incarcerous!" Thick ropes shot out of the end of his wand and wound like snakes around the foolish lord. "Petrificus totallus. Mobilicorpus." Harry levitated the frozen and bound man and led him outside to the main hall. He then unfroze him, put him into a chair and walked away.

Kline found Harry packing his trunk back up. "It's time, then?"

Harry shrank the trunk and hung it around his neck once again. "Yep." Then he told Kline, "Get on my back and I'll take you to your mother." He transformed into Moonnight.

Kline gasped and froze, amazed at the sight of the transformation and of the magnificent stallion. Moonnight snorted and stamped his front hoof, breaking the lad out of his stupor. "I can't ride!" Moonnight neighed insistently, stamping and shaking his head. Kline climbed on with trepidation as the stallion kneeled down where he could reach. Then he held on to the white mane for dear life as Moonnight stood back up and trotted out of the manor and into the grounds of Beriwethin.

They reached Kline's home quickly, but they knew the guards would look at this place for Harry of James. Kline slid off the horse's back, and he returned to human form. Elma, who had survived and recovered from her illness with Harry's help, was outside doing laundry and saw he whole thing. "Harry? What in heavens is going on? Kline?"

"Madame, you and your son are going to need to get out of here for a while. Is there anywhere you can go? Do you have friends of relatives in the Throne City?"

"M-my sister lives there, but why? What's happened?"

"I turned Lord Gant in to King Ylerined for embezzling and abuse of power. He's not bery happy with me, and the guards may come here looking for me. I don't want the two of you in harm's way."

"B-but the house! He'll burn the house!"

Thinking quickly, Harry conjured a burlap sack. He set it aside and started throwing charms. The laundry began washing itself, ringing out, rinsing, ringing out again, and then flying in a circle of ever growing lines of clean clothes. While that was working, Harry walked through the house, sealing it and removing any liquids that weren't sealed up. Then he exited the home and began concentrating magic from near-by ley-lines into a complex shrinking charm. Everything in the house shrank and was stuck in place. Then the house itself shrank to 1/16th scale, leaving a miniature house, a little more than one cubic foot. And it was the Reduction Charm, not the Compaction Charm, so the weight was correspondingly less.

Finally, Harry transfigured the milch cow into a rabbit and summoned all of the flying, now-dry laundry into the sack, folding it before it went in. The magic done for a moment, Harry sagged. This was the most he had ever done at once when he wasn't in the middle of a combat situation. But he still had plenty left. "Kline, get the bunny. Elma, get the house and the laundry. Do you know how to ride?"

"No, m'lord."

He sighed. "All right. I'm going to change into a horse in a moment, but he's very flashy and recognizable, so I'm going to make him look like a mule. I'll want both of you to get on, cover yourselves with your cloaks, and then guide me to your sister's house. A touch with the knees will tell me which way to turn."

Sure enough, when Gant and his men came thundering by, the didn't notice the two peasants on their mule lumbering through the streets toward the gates of the Throne City, and for weeks they combed the countryside looking for the wayward mage. Gant didn't listen when his men told him to count himself lucky, or when they told him that the mage could have blown him to smithereens for hid impudence. But he listened when the King's men arrived on his doorstep with a warrant, an auditor, and a prison wagon.

Harry left on his own two feet, having set matters right for the people of the Beriwethin estate and received his pay from the Guildmaster, who's gotten it from Gant's hoarded funds so that the blooded contract wouldn't kill him. Kline and Elma saw him on his way, having had their home restored and their extorted monies returned. Kline said, "Are you sure you won't take the King up on his offer? I'd love to have you around. You could teach me magic!"

Harry grinned, but sadness still lingered in his expression. "Someone should be teaching you, Kline, but it'll have to be someone else. Go to the Mage Guild and see about getting yourself some training."

He looked at the gate and nodded to himself, then transformed into Moonnight. He nosed Kline affectionately, then headed on his way, pushing the gate open as he reached it, and barreling through it to once more run the open roads and fields in solitude, save for Hedwig's constant, soft-winged presence.


End file.
